Unbidden
by Mandy138
Summary: “Now, where does it hurt?” “In places you can’t heal.”[Kakashi, Sakura]


The ink bit requires knowledge of the traditional Japanese way of calligraphy which involves a stick of ink being ground onto a special stone. The friction 'liquefies' the ink which the slope of the stone then directs to a reservoir for the brush to pick up.

Timeline will obviously be sometime after she takes up tutelage under Tsunade.

* * *

Sakura fidgeted as she sat in the office.

She wasn't comfortable here.

This was forbidden territory.

Her fingers slipped through their own self-imposed prisons to begin anew on one another as she kept up her flighty glances all over the room in fading sunlight. It would be completely gone in only moments, she knew, could tell from the quickly shifting angle of the gold's progression over papers and her body. The desk across from her was strangely beautiful, ordinary fixture that it was, in the glow of natural light. She looked down to the side at the black-cushioned couchette she sat on. The piece of furniture was less impressive as it failed to display a comparable event.

She was nervous. She looked up above her to the last in the series of mirrors that reflected outside light into the inner rooms. This building was the pinnacle of highest security; of course there were no windows. Such folly and risk would not be taken. The light was quickly slipping towards the edge of silver-paned glass. Her bottom lip rolled in to be subjected to abuse from incisors that ground into it, her eyes tight and watching as fingers beat upon each other.

She had been instructed to wait until the operative returned, and once he did, to assess him. Her teacher had led her here, going unquestioned as she led the slim girl throughout the premises, nodding to the gestures of respect generously thrown her way. The presence of an outsider deemed 'no threat' as it walked in White's shadow. Her teacher had sharply taken all the turns at the quick clip she set through the halls, briskly opening the door without hesitation. Her teacher had turned to face her student with fists on hips and a stern expression in place. Tsunade was quite upset. Had she done something wrong?

'You will stay here and wait for his return,' Tsunade's tense frown and angry eyes glowered down upon her after she'd been motioned to sit. 'Upon it, you will tend to him.'

She'd been confused and knew her brows, lips, and countenance to show it, but she understood the subtext within command. She questioned her teacher, asked for clarification. 'Why not send him to the hospital?'

'He doesn't go to the hospital.'

'Why not?' Her voice had been flushed with restrained incredulity.

'He…has an aversion to them.'

Her brows had drawn even further together at the hesitance and brief look away from her.

'This is an S Class mission,' Tsunade's hard voice and furiously burning eyes focused on her again. 'I trust you know what this means, Sakura.'

Her eyes had widened in shocked and fearful surprise and her unseeing eyes unconsciously darted back and forth at her hasty thoughts. She didn't register the Godaime move for the door. Was she in danger? Were they – she and this operative – to go on a secret mission outside Konoha's walls? Was she to face it only with the med-pack she'd been instructed to bring?

Tsunade paused alongside her, hand against the frame as she slumped in the doorway. 'You will be safe as long as you remain seated there. Refrain from any sudden movements.' He would be still on edge, was the thought. Her teacher cast a sidelong glance at her over the propped arm, eye just visible over the bend of the elbow as it stretched to the door post. Her teacher sighed. Had it been in regret, she would later wonder.

Her teacher looked away before again bestowing a brief sideways glance to her student. 'Project your intentions as non-threatening, calm – ignorant, if you can – and things should be alright. I know you don't understand, but you will when it comes. Wait however long it takes.'

There were no further words as the Godaime left her there, closing the door and sealing her in the too silent office.

She didn't want to be here. She was…scared. There was something so vitally important that she was missing.

She couldn't leave. The Godaime had ordered her to stay. The soft looks from her teacher had spoken the missing volumes of how concerned she was over this mission. Her head fell as arms locked straight down into her lap, hands fisting and fingers clawing into the medics' uniform skirt. Her teacher was definitely not angry with her, so what had her so upset?

The light was now across her shoulders. It was still climbing.

The mechanism _clicked_ and the door swung open, her head echoing to meet fate with a doe-eyed stare. The figure paused in the weary brisk widening of the room's entrance he'd been engaged in and executed an immediate snap of his head to focus on the presence that no doubt screamed its existence. She could feel the waves of fear and apprehension rolling off her own body.

Her eyes widened far past what she thought they'd been capable of. "Kakashi-sensei…"

She understood it now.

His eyes, both of his gloriously striking eyes peeking from above the mask, expanded from the narrowed initially offered death-glare, immediately sweeping over the curves of hair that framed her rounded face and taking in the large eyes and tense body. They narrowed again under his free-roaming, lowly swaying bangs. "Why are you here."

Her fearful, surprised, and following enlightened expression faltered and she hastily broke contact with his eyes, jerkily turning to sit facing forward, the desk once again in front of her. She could feel his sharp gaze stabbing into the arm closest to him and she snuck flickering glances at him as she stumbled over her words. "Godaime-sama…ordered me…to complete…a task."

His tone, eyes, wording, all exposed anger, anger at her, for being there. He was not a boisterous man by any means, but he was truly _angry_. She'd…never heard that tone from him before, never known a question to be stated like that with such an obviously apparent magnitude of fury. He was _pissed off_. Another frightful glance revealed the brief closing of his eyes in time with a sigh she saw rather than heard before they opened sharper than before and dulled even as she watched. She thought she'd seen them clouded with something other than emotion as he'd turned away…but she wasn't sure. It'd been too fleeting a moment.

His sight stared passed his desk, most likely at nothing judging by the lack of focus present in his eyes; or so she speculated. There was the slightest of shakes, pale hair hardly shifting at the motion. She felt the anger dissipate, but only towards her. It felt as if it'd been redirected. Tsunade-sensei maybe?

She heard the sigh this time, felt her shoulders relax, and watched the signs of exhaustion bloom across the surface of her former instructor's tense body. His shoulder thumped quietly as he leaned into the opened door, pressure from his too-heavy mass alleviated through the point as the hand still on the knob kept him from collapsing completely. She hadn't been alarmed, merely seeing it as letting his front down.

But it wasn't until she saw his face pull in the effort to straighten that she realized how tired he really was. And she couldn't dampen the concern when he made his way to the desk, the limp - not poorly concealed, she was sure – a screech of the possible underlying conditions. He was a master of concealment; she knew better than _not_ to read more into the failed image of perfection projected. But she also knew better than to belittle him by fussing over him like some incapable child, or worse, man.

She didn't move until after he'd fallen into his chair with a heavy whoosh of air and relieved breath, he immediately slumping so far back to let his head rest upon the not-so-terribly high rear of it. Her watchful eyes recorded it all; how the ever-climbing and fading light passed over his torso and through his hair. Her eyes trailed the long powerful arms, the warm illumination caressing dark folds of fabric hugging the limbs, creeping over the curling cuff at the shoulder. Her observance stopped at the dark swirl just above the warm band of light that underlined it. She let the thoughts form and pass at that sight, saving the time to contemplate them for later before she was forced to keep up with the progressing light show.

It was strangely surreal and beautiful, frightening and feeding the endless reserve of awe she already held for this man. She absorbed how it wrapped around his shoulders to dance over the valleys of the muscles; observed the handle of the sheathed blade strapped across his back flash blindingly white; watched as it created a growing halo around his hair before it passed from him completely. She watched as broad shoulders flexed and slanted, the white encased blade being slid from skillful manipulation of hand and body before he'd landed heavily in his chair and shadows.

She pushed up from the little couch-bench and moved slowly toward him, unhurried so as not to put him on edge again. He'd sense her movement – she'd fully expected him to – and lazily opened an eye to watch her. She'd kept her gaze locked on his the entire length of the journey to where she stood just in front of him and slightly off to the side. If he were to swivel a bit away from the desk, she would be completely in front of him.

He'd maintained that half-lidded lazy stare all throughout and now moved just enough to look at her straight on, head tilting as much as possible – or as much as he was inclined to in his state – to keep it as she stood next to him.

"Let me look you over."

"I'm fine." It was his usual stand-offish tone; the one he used when he wanted to be selfish and not divulge any information, no matter how inane.

"It's why she made me wait here."

He said nothing, at first. "I can take care of myself."

"It's when you can't that others want to step in." She would have none of it. He was in obvious need. He simply stared at her, hoping to bore her into withdrawal from impatience.

"You won't go to the hospital." It was a well-known fact, apparently; one she'd been oblivious of. He had no answer to that. She nodded as if his silence was his acceptance and inquired, "Now, where does it hurt?"

Both eyes opened to stare into the wide adamant ones of hers. "In places you can't heal."

Damn him for being the cynical ass right here and now. He would've mentally shaken his head at his own attitude if he hadn't just _not cared_ so much right then, hadn't been so _tired_, hadn't lacked the energy to react to those delicate brows drawing together in displeasure. But, damn it, he was and he was still _pissed_. His dual-colored gaze hadn't left hers and she'd held his. He continued as if nothing had been said, had been silently passed in understanding between them. "My side. My left side."

She'd understood what he'd meant by the unbidden, burning, cryptic remark; understood what had not been said. 'In places you can't touch, can't reach. You're not allowed.' She put it down to his rare mood and battered state and let it go. She knew how missions could be.

She stepped to the side to come between Kakashi and the desk and knelt between the lazily spread knees of the lithe shinobi slumped before her, letting her med pack slide from fingers to rest beside her. His physique was rather undeniably that, as his current dress stated, revealing that which his jounin uniform had probably quite purposefully hid. She'd seen him fight almost too many times before – and yet, strangely, never enough – to know the power his body held. Hell, she would sit _on_ him as he did push-ups; she _knew_ the state of his flesh because she'd _felt_ it.

"Pull up your shirt and let me see," she said, eyes on the area he'd indicated with words. Time stretched for a few moments with no movement taking place. She looked up to his face to see that he'd only been staring at her with that damned unreadable look the entire time and she shot him quite a cross one in return.

"If you don't I will." She glared directly into the sharingan, hoping to offset his wall just a bit.

Nothing, still that damned stare. She let forth a frustrated huff and growl and proceeded to bring her reaching fingers to his waist. The tips almost brushed the folds of fabric before they were brutally halted in place, kunai iron encircling her arms, thumbs pressing harshly into the soft undersides of the wrists. Their eyes met, hard, his dark pupils livid and hers just as pissed.

She held his glare, quietly breathing out her words, letting her tone leak with its laced anger. "I gave you your chance." She could feel the bones of her wrists grind together under the intense pressure. It wasn't painful, but she was very, very uncomfortable. "Please, it's what I came here for. This is my mission."

He let the standstill continue, taking his time in waiting her out. He had infinite patience where any of his students were concerned and more than most men; this would be no challenge. Her eyes were unyielding, however, unexpectedly so. He'd been forever acquainted with her stubborn nature but now it was directed at him with a most annoying resilience and he didn't know if he even wanted to win this one.

He released her, eyes falling into the familiar hooded gaze he'd almost always constantly imparted them. After a moment, they looked briefly off to the side, looking at nothing as if silently speaking to himself 'might as well get this over with'.

He turned to his left arm, focusing on the upper portion of it as the right was brought up to meet the focal point at the cuff of the long sleeve-like glove. His thumb nimbly slipped under it and began to peel it off. He'd like to avoid getting it soiled. The less he had to replace, the better.

Her arms had dropped into her lap as he'd begun to move once more, eyes helpless in their trance as they watched, the cloth unfolding to reveal naked arms she'd never before seen. They trailed down as each rustle brought forth more skin and her body trembled at the sight of glove trailing from long fingers, at the beauty his effortless grace elicited in such mundane motions. It was beautiful because he wasn't trying, because if even he was aware, he would brush it off as unimportant. It was attractive – he was - because it was humble. His head turned to repeat on the other and her eyes followed, enjoying the extra treat at the muscles rippling in unhindered sight.

The gloves were tossed onto the desk and, if he hadn't been who he was, turned his head in what she might have labeled exasperated haughtiness. She was unable to hold the gaze this time and fluttered downwards to the hands now in her lap, once again clutching at the medic apron. The edge of her vision caught pale fingers scrabbling under fabric and she brought her face up to watch as he peeled the side of the shirt away.

It was a mangled mesh of hashed flesh and combination of flowing and caked-on blood. The disturbed grunt rolled from her throat, playing cadence to the troubled grimace crinkling her brow, lips, and eyes. She pushed it away as much as she can in favor of attending to the more important matter and her fingers once again quest forth. She moved a little more cautiously than the last, her eyes alternating between the damaged tissues and his face in case he didn't feel compelled to let her close. When it looked promising for him letting her begin treatment, she locked her gaze onto the torn torso.

"Can you breathe alright?" she said with another glancing look to his eyes, fingers gently pressing into the purple muscle around the central gash.

He replied, "Yes," tone unchallenging and blessedly normal.

"Looks like it missed your lung, whatever it was," she'd stated, hands flat against his body, one beside the wound and one behind. She let chakra trickle in first to gauge, then let it flow in soothing and rejuvenating waves, piecing him back together with the most threatening injuries gaining priority.

"Let me guess. I was the 'lucky one' and it missed all my vital organs."

She was somber and didn't meet his eyes even at the slightly tense voice. She tried to dull the pain as much as possible, but she could imagine it was still pretty excruciating. "No." It was then that she looked pointedly at him. "It lacerated your liver. Badly."

She looked once more to the glow signifying her work, turning inwards to direct more concentration "You need to go to the hospital."

"I don't go to hospitals."

"I know."

He said nothing.

She worked and he stilled and all light eventually faded, leaving them to the dark and slight glow of desperate chakra. She tossed her head to dislodge a piece of plastered hair and bit a lip. Just a little longer and he'd be alright enough to recuperate on his own. The faint light died and she released a heavy and deeply weary sigh, hands falling away from his body.

They dropped to her side momentarily and she rummaged through her pack, withdrawing gauze and medical tape. Fishing through it once more, she brought a thrice padded layer close to her face to see as she spread a generous layer of cream on it. It would simultaneously serve to fight infection and act as a non-adhesive. The cold cream-covered gauze was placed upon the wound and held firmly, her other hand crossing over to place tape and then stretching around his side to end on his back. Her fingers pressed firmly into the tape and then returned to her side to retrieve a kunai which she then used to cut it. Setting both the roll and knife at her side, she gave the bandage a good pat down all around and sat back, letting her arms fall.

She let them drop, hands falling on his knees, supporting herself as her head drooped. Oh, was she exhausted. She kept her lungs regulated to deep, slow breaths and dimly registered movement as he let the shirt fall from his hands. She squeezed her eyes shut, corners of her lips tightening. She felt his left leg, the one under her right hand, tense briefly in the silence.

"…Are you alright?" he said hesitantly, unsure.

She didn't move, didn't relax, just swam in her thoughts, the worries of 'what ifs'. "You could have died."

"We all die." There was cynicism in his tone.

She looked up in anger, eyes flashing as his barely detectable sardonic smirk slipped at meeting the hurt below. "I didn't think you stupid enough to end it idiotically. I thought you were better than that. I thought higher of you, so much higher," she ended with a disbelieving shake of her head, trailing off.

That betrayed disappointment was written all over her features and he felt his stomach lurch. This was exactly why he didn't want them to know he was ANBU. As a shinobi, death and the taking of lives from others was commonplace; he wasn't ashamed of it. But he hadn't wanted them to see the brutal work he was _known_ for in ANBU. He didn't want to feed their awe, didn't want to give them reason to hold him above human. He didn't want to see their faces crumble when they found out the ugly truth; he was nothing more than the product of hereditary and continuous failure. His clan was doomed to unintentionally betraying comrades, he'd just been too young to see it from his father and too naïve to think he could ever have changed it.

He wanted to drop his guilty gaze from hers but could not. It would have only been another betrayal to add to the list if he had, but she had this ability to pin him to a spot with just a look. He knew neither Naruto nor Sasuke could escape, having seen it in effect on numerous occasions. Still, he could say nothing.

She looked away in a jerky motion, having torn her gaze from his and reeling in her anger. It would not help, she knew that. She began stuffing her things back into the bag, preparing to leave and speaking to him from her turned-away position.

"It is a given that we all will die, especially in our lifestyle." There was a snap as the bag closed, flap folded over and secured. Her voice was muffled. "Take this as a sign that it was not yet your time."

She stood and looked at him in passing as she turned to leave. She paused half-way to the door and hung her head briefly - his sharingan picking out her body heat – before she threw over her shoulder in the same quiet voice, "And come to me next time."

He watched her go from the room, her last thoughts becoming his as he thought about all that was said - and not – on the whole hospital issue. She was giving him an option to avoid his fear, to keep his way, and to live.

His hand fell to the bandage, absently moving over it as he thought, gaze blank and somewhere on the vicinity of his desktop.

He released the heavy thought-laced breath in a quiet sigh and moved close to his desk. A quick series of movements from nimble fingers produced a lit match from his drawer that directly resulted in a lit lamp and light. From the same drawer, he withdrew parchment, ink, stone, and brush. He picked up the ink and placed it on the stone well, purging the night's event with each scrape and watching as they ran in dark streams to bury in a pool of murky death. The brush between his fingers quickly chased away any residual worry as the strokes upon the paper of his report blissfully returned him to unthinking work.

The swish of ink on paper kept him company late into the night.

* * *


End file.
